The War of Claw and Fang
by Shining Charizard
Summary: A human boy hatched from a Pokemon egg... Kris must discover the secrets of his past and play his part in the ongoing battle between the Sevipers and the Zangeese.
1. Prelude to Our Story

Disclaimer: In about ten years, I'll have saved up enough money to buy Pokémon. When that day comes, the world will PAY for not showing Typhlosion in the TV show! *grumble grumble*  
  
SC: I've had this idea in my head for quite some time now, but have been too lazy to actually type it out. The thought always intrigued me: the Pokédex entries for Seviper and Zangoose said they were long-running rivals, but what would it be like to actually experience their rivalry? And, what if that rivalry turned into a full-fledged war? Oh, the excitement. Well, here it is. Enjoy the show!  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Early Spring, west of Mauville City, Fifteen years ago  
  
Pamela Lynette Drake, who was currently hiking along the rough trail of Jagged Pass, had always wanted a Pokémon. When she was ten, the Pokémon League hadn't yet instated the New Trainers Act, which allowed Pokémon trainers to receive their first Pokémon from the nearest Professor. Even so, her father had always told her never to get involved with such "disgusting pests," or so he called them; however, she found Pokémon to be wonderfully interesting, and often trekked into the forest, against her father's wishes, to look for Pokémon.  
  
Now, eleven years later, Pam could search to her heart's desire for Pokémon, right alongside her new husband, Edward Drake. She was fortunate to have married a field researcher for the Mauville Gym, because Edward, or Ed, needed all the help he could get in his particular career. They were currently working on an important assignment directly from Wattson himself: the Drakes were to uncover the identity of a mysterious Pokémon that had been causing trouble in the area.  
  
"Now, honey," Ed said through a slight groan as he scaled a particularly large boulder, "are you sure you're up to this? This is your first big task, and I'm not sure you can handle it. . ."  
  
"Nonsense," Pam grunted, climbing across the rock behind him. "I'm doing fine. Besides," she sighed as she sat down on the rock where he was resting, "I couldn't let Wattson give you all the credit."  
  
Ed smiled. Man, was she ever a good woman to marry. "All right, if you say so. Let's continue on, shall we? We're nearly there." He stood up against the weight of his heavy backpack, and, reaching down, grabbed his wife's slender fingers in his own callous ones.  
  
It was a two-hour hike, not because of the slope or the length of the trail, but because of the pebbles, rocks, and boulders that were littered across the ground as though a Graveler had sneezed its skin off. A narrow path wound its way around most of the bigger stones, snaking along to the base of Mount Chimney. It was in this area, near the Cable Car station at the end of the trail, that the Drakes had been sent to investigate.  
  
After the grueling trudge up the hill, the Pokémon researcher flopped onto the ground and lied on his back, giving Pam enough time to whip out her binoculars and study their surroundings. A simple wooden building containing the cable car office, thick wires leading to the mountain's base, a few scattered saplings along the edges of the rocky plateau, and other than that, it was barren land. There weren't many places for a Pokémon to hide, especially not a trouble making one; the couple had determined that in order to cause such damage the mystery Pokémon would have to be bigger than a Growlithe. No hiding place on this pitiful patch of the planet could hide even a Rattata, much less a Growlithe.  
  
"So," Ed began, breaking the patient silence, "what exactly has this Pokémon been up to?"  
  
"What, you came all the way up here and you don't even know what your target did?" his wife asked, a bit of surprise in her voice.  
  
"Hey, I'm the Field Researcher. I do the stuff in the field. You're supposed to gather all the details before we come, Pamela," replied Ed sarcastically.  
  
Pam sighed, sat down on a mottled olive stone, and pulled a thin spiral notebook from the bowels of her bulky pack. She flipped it open with one hand, and ran the index finger of her free hand across the page, searching for the notes she had taken while on the phone with Wattson. "Here it is," she announced finally after finding what she needed. "Well, this is one problem Pokémon if you ask me. Says here that it's attacked six trainers in the past two weeks, ravaged the campsites of trainers and picnickers, and it even stole a Pokéball from a hiker, but it was recovered a few hours later with bite-sized scratch marks on the sides. Probably thought it was a fruit of some kind. . ." she wandered off subject for a minute, then realigned herself to the correct sentence. "To quote the Mauville Morning News: 'This Pokémon is deemed highly dangerous. Special precautions should be taken if one is to travel anywhere near the base of Mount Chimney. If one should discover any information on this mystery menace, report to the Mauville Gym immediately.' End quote." Pam finished her reading and closed the spiral with a soft slap.  
  
Ed whistled through his uneven teeth. "Boy, do we have a job to do up here. We might as well get started." He slipped the straps of his heavy pack off his shoulders and let them fall to the ground. "Our packs we can leave - we won't need them if we stay in the general area." Pam nodded and removed her own baggage. They were only just getting started with their work, and already the streaks of crimson and gold were raking across the land from the setting sun.  
  
"It'll be dark soon," Pam noted, eyeing the long shadows that she and her husband were leaving behind them. "We're going to have to stay at the cable car office tonight; I'm sure they won't mind, as long as we tell them it's gym business."  
  
"Never mind that," Ed said sternly. "Let's focus on the task at hand." His voice seemed to resonate with sudden courage, alertness - Pam recognized it immediately. Ed's attitude always changed drastically when the job got exciting, and possibly dangerous. "I say we start near that drop off. There might be a small cave that the brute is hiding in.  
  
The pair of researchers headed for the cliff's edge and tentatively leaned over. It was a sheer drop, nearly perpendicular to the ground beneath it. "No Pokémon could live here, except maybe a Flying-type. . . But those bite- marks couldn't have been made by any bird. . . Hmm. . ." Pam thought aloud. "Maybe it's. . ." she stopped suddenly when a loud rustling sound met her ears. She spun 'round, nearly losing her balance in the process, and saw her backpack fidgeting across the rock on its own.  
  
"Ed, look!" she cried, but he was far ahead of her, halfway to the backpack, and pulling a shining orb out of his pocket. "Go Zigzagoon!" Ed hollered, and tossed the pearly orb of red and white towards the lump of moving canvas. The Pokéball split open, a flash of bright light appeared briefly, and a small, tan-and-ivory Pokémon materialized out of seemingly nowhere. Its normally warm and curious yellow eyes were narrowed in cold anger, and its already bristly fur was standing on end. A growling noise came from the Zigzagoon's throat, and the bag seemed to quiver when it heard the aggressive sound.  
  
"Okay Zigzagoon, use tackle on the bag!" Ed commanded, and the clatter of claws on stone was heard as the little Pokémon dashed across the plateau and rammed its head against the bulging side of the pack. A Pokémonfell through the top of the bag, but before either of the Drakes could determine what species it was, there was a flurry of snowy fur and a flash of steely red claws, and their Zigzagoon was knocked back. Whatever species it was, it scored a direct hit Slash attack on the young Zigzagoon before dashing off behind the thin row of trees. The raccoon-like Pokémon whimpered; no surprises from the Drakes, even in the steadily darkening light they could see the gash across their poor Pokémon's side.  
  
"Zigzagoon, return!" Ed declared, and the metallic Pokéball opened, swallowing the small Pokémon whole and closing tightly. "Pam," he said, gazing into the tree line in the direction their attacker went. "You go after it. I'll take care of Zigzagoon, and then I'll be right after you. Go!" His tone of voice was not one to contradict, so Pam nodded and dashed down the thin trail which led after the mysterious Pokémon.  
  
This path was obviously not taken by humans often, as it was barred with thorny shrubs and tree branches. By the time that she reached a small clearing, Pam was covered in scrapes and cuts. She glanced around nervously, for if this Pokémon could injure a Zigzagoon like that, in an indistinguishable blur of movement, who knows what it could do to her. . . Pam shivered at the thought.  
  
At first glance, the clearing seemed to be filled with nothing but trash: crumpled papers, skins off of various fruits, even what looked like a shredded picnic basket, but then her eyes caught something else. A nest, across the clearing from her, partially hidden beneath a thick shrub. Pam looked around again, crossed the distance quickly, then leaned over the bush and pushed away the branches.  
  
"Oh my. . ." she whispered, for the nest was filled with the shattered shells of Pokémon eggs. Everywhere, bits of leathery black shell dotted the ground, now that she looked, and the nest itself had a gooey residue, a mixture of yolk and blood, covering it. "You poor things," Pamela murmured, laying a hand gently on the side of the twig-made nest. "You never had a chance. That bully of a Pokémon stole your lives before they even began. . ."  
  
A single tear rolled down her cheek, and raising her hand to brush it away she knocked some of the leaves that had been on the ground aside. There, lying in a half-dug hole and covered with rotting leaves, was a single Pokémon egg. It was the same size as its fellows had been, with the same leathery feel, but rather than being a black egg it was colored a deep, regal blue like that of the ocean on a bright summer's day.  
  
Slowly, Pam picked it up. It felt quite heavy for a Pokémon egg, but none the less she felt the warmth of life, even a faint heartbeat, coming from whatever was inside the leathery confines of the shell. She instinctively looked around for another Pokémon, one that could be this egg's parent - but none were to be found. All of the nearby Pokémon had been scared away by the same menace the Drakes had seen earlier.  
  
Pam stood up and clutched the egg close to her body. She wasn't about to let some scoundrel of a Pokémon eat this egg. She didn't care what was inside it: be it Magikarp or Dragonite, she would do everything in her power to protect this single egg. Fumbling around in the dark of the night, Pam made her way back to the cable car's office.  
  
~*~*~  
  
"Pam, you know we can't keep it, it's a wild Pokémon egg. . ."  
  
"I don't care!" Pam snapped. "I'm not going to let anything happen to it!"  
  
"Pamela, we don't have the time to take care of a baby Pokémon. That's why we agreed to not have our own child, remember?" Ed reminded her.  
  
His wife looked down sullenly and muttered, "Yes, I know. But Ed," she added, looking up, "we can't just leave it there. I told you, its parents weren't around, and the others it was with had already been eaten. . ."  
  
Ed sighed. He reached across the table where they were sitting and lifted his wife's chin. Soft amber eyes met brilliant green ones, and Ed said calmly, "I am aware of that, my dear. But what are we supposed to do? Raise it ourselves?"  
  
Mrs. Drake shook her head slowly. "No, we don't have to raise it all the way. . . just let me hatch it. Once it's hatched and grown accustomed to being outside the egg, we can give it to Wattson and let him train it." She gave her husband a pleading look down the bond of their locked eyes.  
  
The researcher pulled his hand away from Pam's dainty chin, and after a moment of thought his face split into a sheepish grin. "All right. You can hatch it, but once it's hatched it goes straight to the Gym. Agreed?"  
  
"Agreed." They shook on it, and left the table to go to their room. Ed was asleep as soon as he hit the bed, but Pam stayed up a bit longer, cleaning the dirt from the egg and wrapping it in a towel to keep it extra warm. She laid it onto the pillow aside her head, and Pam stared at it for an hour before finally falling asleep, her dreams full of vibrant fantasies as to what Pokémon could be inside that egg. For the first time in the twenty-one years of her life, she was finally going to have her own Pokémon.  
  
~*~*~  
  
A week had passed since the Drakes' incident near Mount Chimney, and still no one knew anything about the tricky Pokémon that was running amuck. While Ed and Wattson spent their time fretting over the whole ordeal, thoughts of the recent events had fallen from Pam's mind. She was obsessed with the care and comfort of the blue egg. All day she would hold it close to the warmth of her body, stroking it gently, sometimes even speaking to it in fluid whispers. Ed caught her reading a book to it when he came home from the gym one day, and though they both laughed when they looked at each other, Ed reminded his wife not to grow too attached to their temporary houseguest. It was too late, of course, for Pam had already become terribly fond with it. But, Ed didn't know that, and he thought that a simple reminder would be enough to bring her down to earth.  
  
Several days later, Ed was with Wattson in the Leader's Office, going over the past month in review and assessing what they had accomplished. It was standard research analysis: look at what you've discovered, and if you've discovered a lot, you get paid a lot. Unfortunately for Ed, most of this month had been devoted to searching for the mystery Pokémon, and not much progress had been made in that area, either. Wattson had just signed the check when one of the gym's junior trainers rushed into the room, breathing heavily as though he had just run a marathon.  
  
"Mister Drake, sir," the young boy huffed as he caught his breath, "your wife is on the phone. . . it sounds urgent."  
  
"Wa-ha-ha-ha-ha! The spouse in trouble, Ed?" Wattson chortled.  
  
"Nah, it's probably just some drivel about that blasted egg of hers. . ." Ed said through slightly clenched teeth.  
  
"Well, you'd best go see what the matter is," Wattson suggested. "It's not good for your health to let a spouse get hot under the collar. Wa-ha-ha-ha- ha!" The grinning gym leader nudged Ed with his elbow.  
  
"Right," Ed agreed, and left to answer the phone behind the receptionist's desk in the foyer. "Hello?" he asked after grasping the phone in his rough hands.  
  
"Ed, thank goodness I got a hold of you. . . I though you might have left work already. . . The egg is hatching."  
  
Ed could hear the anxious tone in her voice, even over the phone. He gulped quickly before hurriedly asking, "Can you tell what species it is?"  
  
On the other end of the phone, Pam frowned. "No, the shell has a few minor cracks in it, and every so often it twitches a bit, but other than that I can't tell what's inside."  
  
"Okay, just sit tight. I'll be right there." He replaced the phone on the wall and dashed out the gym door. Down the road he ran, flying like a Fearow, all the while thinking, Yes! Soon we'll be rid of that time- consuming beach ball. . .  
  
The front door of their house had been unlocked, no doubt by Pam, and he leapt inside, nearly crashing into the wall before him. Pam herself was sitting at the kitchen table, the egg with cracks across it like a spider web perched in front of her, propped up by a towel. Ed sat down next to her and placed an arm around her shoulder, embracing her as another spasm moved the egg and added another thin crevice.  
  
Twitch, crack, twitch, crick-crack, that's how it went for ten minutes, until the blue ellipsoid gave an almighty lurch and carved a deep valley across one side. Excited, Pam jumped to her feet and leaned over the egg, her nose barely an inch away. She glanced at her husband, asking with her eyes, "Should we help?" Ed nodded, so she dug her long painted nails into the crevice, being careful not to hurt the Pokémon inside. Slowly she moved her hands apart; the egg, unable to take the pressure, split along the crack and hurled bits of shell everywhere.  
  
The Drakes stared. Not until the high-pitched wailing met their ears and a few moments of time had passed did they realize the absurdity of the situation. That egg had been a Pokémon egg.  
  
And a human baby was lying on their kitchen table, curled up and looking very vulnerable, crying its eyes out at the unfamiliarity of the scene around him.  
  
"What. . . the. . ." Ed murmured, aghast. Pam was just as shocked, but she took up the baby in her arms, wrapped it in the towel like a blanket, and hugged it gently, trying to ease its tearful fit. The Drakes' eyes locked, had a whole conversation, discussing the matters at hand without saying a word. What do we do? Should we keep it? You know we can't, honey. Just think! We can adopt him, care for him. . . We don't have the time, or money, to take care of it. . . If I stay home, I can be with it while you're at the gym. That doesn't solve the money problem, dear. . . I'm sure my parents will help, at least for a while, and you can explain the situation to Wattson. He's kind enough to pay you extra for a while, you know that. . .  
  
By now, the baby had stopped crying and was clinging to Pam's shoulder, one thumb jammed into its mouth and its eyes half closed. Ed sighed, and got to his feet. He took the baby from Pam's arms and looked at the infant's innocent little face. He looked then at his wife, and after a moment said, "Well I suppose there's only one question left to be answered."  
  
His wife stared at him, confused. Ed grinned and continued, "What should we name this little fella'?"  
  
Pam smiled. "I know exactly what to call him," she announced, taking the baby back. Ed wrapped his strong arm around her, and together they looked warmly at the face of their newly adopted son.  
  
"Kristopher James Drake."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
SC: Huh? Did you think that was good? I thought it was a little corny myself, but hey, I still liked it. I'm sorry if you think this has nothing to do with the plot (Zangoose vs. Seviper!), but it does, for you see, Kristopher is going to be my main character, as you shall soon see. . . 


	2. Prelude to a Change

Disclaimer: Have they shown Typhlosion on the TV show yet? No? Then I don't own it folks.  
  
SC: And now, the appearance of Kris! I really like my character (I'll tell you why in the next chapter). Anyway, I'm sorry if this took so long to update. School has been rather hectic of late (in two words: SCIENCE FAIR. *gag*). But, here it is, and I will try to get the next chapter out ASAP.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Mid-Spring, Mauville City, Present Day  
  
SLAM! The echoing clang of the metal locker rang down the empty school hallway. Kris Drake was breathing heavily, adrenaline pounding through his veins, as his grade-school enemy, Jeremy, the bully, raised his fist to meet Kris's eye-level. "Hand it over!" he bellowed with a sound similar to a hippo. "Gimmee' all yer money!" His sausage-like fingers curled themselves up and collided with the side of Kris's face.  
  
Jeremy let go of Kris's shirt collar, allowing his prey to slide down the wall to the floor. A trickle of blood leaked from the corner of Kris's mouth, a rivulet which spilled forth more of the crimson liquid as Kris stuttered a reply. "O-okay! I-I-I'll g-give it to you!"  
  
The six-foot thug's mouth twisted into a toothy grin, showing his cracked canines and cavities. "Das' what I t'ought," Jeremy answered. "Now, git it out before I hafta' take anudder swing at ya'." Kris nodded grimly, slid his second-hand backpack off his shoulders, and began rummaging around in one of the pockets. Jeremy turned his head towards the end of the hallway, checking and double-checking for signs of a teacher. If he got caught bullying one more time, it was suspension for him.  
  
Now was Kris's chance, while Jeremy was looking away. He grabbed his backpack, got to his feet, and was halfway down the hall, going the opposite direction that Jeremy was looking before the dim-witted bully even noticed he was gone. It was lucky for Kris that Jeremy was too slow to catch him, or anything for that matter. The badly bruised boy ran through the maze of hallways, finally stopping and entering one of the boys' bathrooms that was the farthest away from where Jeremy was.  
  
Clicking the lock behind him as he laid down his backpack, Kris sighed and went over to the sink. He had to clean himself up or else risk a teacher asking him what had happened. Kris grabbed a few paper towels, wet them, and looked at himself in the mirror. A young boy of about fifteen stared back, a swollen purple bruise welling up on his left cheek. It wasn't that Kris was bullied because of his schoolwork, or because of his inability to make the school baseball team, but because of his looks. Ever since he could remember, Kris recalled being teased for his tall, bony stature, his pale, almost transparent skin, the ridge that ran down the upper half of his spine, and the unusual color of his eyes.  
  
His eyes weren't of any normal hue found in most people - blue, green, hazel, brown, gray, or black - but were of a deep, vibrant gold. Those eyes had caused a lot of pain for Kris, for they led kids in his Kindergarten class to call him a "monster," fellow fifth-grade students to pick him last for their teams in PE, and finally to being bullied in middle school and up. Those same auric eyes, coupled with his other "unique" characteristics, were what made him different from most of the students at Scott's High School.  
  
Kris looked nothing like his parents. His mother, Pam, had amber eyes and strawberry-blond, shoulder-length hair; his father, emerald green eyes and black hair cut close to the sides of his head. Kris's hair was a fluid brown, dripping down into two blond-tipped spikes behind his head. His bangs hung unkempt before the "famous" yellow eyes that gave him a falsely cold appearance.  
  
He didn't talk much at school. Why bother? It's not like anyone would listen to him anyway. Everyone at school feared that if they were seen talking with Kris, that Jeremy would punish them dearly. Kris's only friend was his pet Linoone, which had been in the family since before he was born. Of course, that wasn't much help, since Linoone, like most other Pokémon, could not speak the human language.  
  
Somewhere off in the distance, the school's bell rang, signaling the end of classes for the day. Kris sighed, gathered his things, and left the bathroom. He'd be in trouble with his science teacher tomorrow, no doubt, for missing the class, but right now Kris didn't care. He had managed to escape from Jeremy, a feat never before achieved. This fact made him smile a bit as he navigated through the hallways of the high school.  
  
Jeremy had been bothering Kris since he had been in the third grade, although, Jeremy had been a burly fourth grader at the time. For some reason that only God was to know, Kris had been bestowed as Jeremy's punching bag. Somewhere along the progress of their school years, Jeremy was held back a year, meaning that now they were in the same grade, and, as Murphy's Law should have it, had five out of seven classes together. And now, as Kris was walking home behind the school, he was too busy being happy for a change to notice that he was walking right into a trap.  
  
"Gotcha'!" a deep voice boomed as a shadowed figure leaped - well, stumbled - from behind the nearest bush. A heavy hand landed on Kris's shoulder, spun him around, and gripped him tightly. Standing before him was Jeremy, looking none too happy. "Ya' t'ink you can just walk away from me? I'll teach ya'!" Around came the all-too-familiar fist that connected with Kris's left shoulder. Kris faltered, shock and fear ganging up on him, making him unable to move out of the way as Jeremy launched a second attack, this time making contact with his already bruised cheek.  
  
Wheezing, Kris fell to the ground under the force of the blow. Jeremy brought up his foot and landed a kick to the underside of Kris's chin, knocking him back into a bush. As he lay there, under the temporary protection of the shrub's branches, a new feeling other than the usual adrenaline pulsated through his veins. It was anger, the rage of being attacked for doing nothing. It swam like lava through his blood stream, sending a prickling sensation down his arms and legs.  
  
He stood up. For once in his life, Kris was going to fight back. A prickling feeling took the place of the anger's heat and seemed to focus on his spine. Tremulously he raised his fists and took what he hoped was a defensive position. Jeremy stared for a moment, then threw back his head in an arrogant laugh. "So yer goin' to try an' fight me? Fat chance!" he said haughtily, still laughing. "I doubt ya' could even land a punch, much less hurt me." That last comment jarred loose what little restraint Kris had left. He wasn't going to let this - person - just stand there and insult him!  
  
Almost instantaneously something came over him. His head felt like it was spinning, and a burning sensation filled his eyes and zoomed down his spine. By now, Jeremy had stopped laughing, and was staring in utter disbelief at the weak boy whom he had fought for years. Kris almost couldn't take the pain from the white-hot feeling under his skin anymore. Suddenly, what felt like spears burst from the skin and bone of his back. Jeremy leapt back as six pointed bones, three on each side, cascaded down Kris's back and covered themselves in leathery blue skin.  
  
Here was where Kris lost control of his anger. He could see his own actions, but not control them. It was almost as if his anger had gotten the better of him. He felt himself stand up straighter, felt himself raise a fist, saw Jeremy back away slowly, and heard his own voice utter a strange mix of hissing sounds and speech.  
  
"Oh, I believe thissssssss will hurt quite a bit, Jeremy," Kris said in a voice quite unlike his own - dark and monotonous.  
  
And suddenly his hand was engulfed in vibrant blue flames; sizzling and radiating with an extreme heat that Kris could visibly see but not feel. Slowly the hand was drawn back, and in a blinding blur of movement, too fast to be entirely human, it was launched in Jeremy's direction. Before the six-foot blunderer could even respond to the moment, the putrid smell of burning cloth and flesh spilled into the air. Jeremy was still frozen in shock, until the pain of having a second-degree burn on his arm met up with him. Tears began to roll down his face as Jeremy turned and bolted towards home, crying with all his might. "Monster!" he called out behind him as he ran. "The other kids were right to call you that when you were little! You devil of a FREAK!"  
  
Kris stood and watched him run for a minute then sighed and sank to the ground. Calling up that immense amount of energy left him feeling tired. Wait a minute. . . "What the hell?!" Kris hollered, the full weight of what had just happened settling upon his shoulders. "What went on just now?" His eyes fell upon a charred piece of Jeremy's shirt lying on the ground. "Oh, crap. Did I do that? This is making absolutely no sense."  
  
Trying to figure it all out, Kris fell back to rest on his back. He felt something long and thin beneath him, like he was lying on top of something. He got up and turned to look, but saw nothing but the dirt and leaves one would usually find in a clump of trees. Figuring that it was his imagination, Kris lay on the ground again, but felt the same stick-sized lump rub up against his back. "Okay, what is going on here?" Kris asked, raising a hand to rub his back. "Oh my God!" he cried as he ran his finger down a hard, thin object. He twisted his neck around and caught sight of a pair of broad blue wings, leathery to the touch, protruding from where the lump on his back had been.  
  
Mentally, Kris found himself spiraling down into a whirlpool of unprecedented and unbelievable events. First off, he had pounded the school bully, second, he had somehow summoned fire into the palm of his hand, and third, he now had two gaudy wings to deal with. Kris got up and tried to run home, but he mistakenly ran between two trees, and his fully-flared wings got caught against them. "Come on!" Kris hollered, struggling to pull himself free, but the wings' bones, though super-light, were also super- strong.  
  
Kris sighed, and focused all of his energy onto one wing. He willed for it to move downwards and fold tightly against his back, and slowly it did so, collapsing into its most compact shape. He then did the same for the second one, and it too folded nicely against the other, so that they formed a single blue ridge down his back. Kris sidled out from between the oaks and continued his mad dash home, taking every back-road he knew so as not to draw to much attention to himself.  
  
Ten minutes later, Kris had arrived at his quaint house along the fringes of the Mauville metropolis. He hopped the fence, jumped over his mother's Tamato Berry patch, threw open the back door and slammed it quickly shut behind him. Kris glanced around, muttering to himself so fast it sounded like the hum of a Beedrill's wings. "Oh, please don't let Mom be home! Oh, please don't let Mom be home! Oh, please. . ." Kris's eyes landed upon a hastily written note attached to the refrigerator door, and he recognized his mother's loopy handwriting: "Kris, your father and I have to meet with Wattson today, so we won't be home until five o'clock or so. There are some cookies on the counter, in case you're hungry after school. Love, Mom." A series of pink and red heart stickers covered the rest of the note.  
  
Kris leaned around the edge of the refrigerator and saw a plate of freshly baked sugar cookies, shaped like hearts. "God Mom, you need to cut the heart obsession you have," he said, emitting a slightly annoyed sigh. Grabbing a fistful of cookies, Kris trudged up the short flight of stairs that led to the only room on the second story of the Drakes' house, which was his own. As he entered the room, he saw a mess of ivory and chocolate fur covering his bed.  
  
"C'mon Ziggy, move!" Kris huffed, trying to lift the old and stiff Linoone away from the pile of blankets and clothes. Blearily, one eyelid was raised to reveal a slate gray orb, then closed again, plainly stating that the senior Pokémon did not wish to leave the warm spot on the bed between his pillow and two sheets. "Come ON! I'll give you a cookie if you move!" Both eyes were opened this time, and the Linoone jumped happily out of bed and turned to face Kris with the eagerness of a puppy.  
  
"Wha'. . . that actually worked? I thought old people hated sugar," commented Kris as he handed the energetic Pokémon a cookie and scratched it behind the ears. The Linoone responded by sniffing around Kris's palm, as though more cookies would appear if the hand was smelled enough. The wet charcoal nose traveled up the boy's arm, almost to the shoulder, when the Linoone paused abruptly. Growling, the already ruffled fur of the Pokémon stood on end as Ziggy backed away from Kris.  
  
"What? What is it boy? Do ya' smell something?" Kris inquired. Out came the barks and yips of a reply, and Kris, having spent so much time with his Pokémon, could tell what was being said. "Listen, something happened today at school. I'll show you, but you have to swear on your tail that you won't tell Mom or Dad. Promise, Ziggy?" The Linoone nodded vigorously, sensing the seriousness of the situation. Kris sighed and willed for his newborn wings to unfurl. Almost instantly they did, creating a slight wind in their wake as they moved apart, with the folds of scaly skin between the bones stretched to full extent. "There. You see?"  
  
Ziggy was speechless, for he had never seen anything like this in his many- year life. "Yeah, that's how I felt." Kris said, reading the Pokémon's expression. "I just don't understand it!" he exclaimed, flopping onto his bed and letting the Linoone curl up next to him. "Darn, this is so confusing. What am I supposed to tell Mom and Dad? 'Hi, Mom! Hi, Dad! Guess what? I've been bullied in school for the past three years, and today when I stood up to the bully I grew wings and summoned fire.' Dramatic pause. 'So? Any idea what possessed me?' Nope, I don't think that speech will fly."  
  
Kris ran his hand down Ziggy's back. Stroking the warm fur made him calm down a bit, the stress flowing away with the eddies of passing time. After all, it was only four-thirty, surely he would think of a promising way to tell his parents by then. . .  
  
The rumbling of the opening garage door met Kris's ears, and he was only dimly aware that an opening garage meant that his parents were home. In fact, he didn't even realize they were until his mother called up the stairs, "Kris, honey! We're home! We picked up a few Poké-burgers to-go on the way home; do you want one?"  
  
Kris leapt up. Parents. Parents! "Crap, they're not supposed to be back yet!" But the clock proved him wrong, the blinking numerals clearly read to be five twenty-two. He was going to have to think up something good - and fast - if he was going to tell his parents without making them die of shock.  
  
"Kris? Did you hear me?" Pam asked, stepping on the first stair and craning her neck to see the boy's bedroom door.  
  
"Yes Mom!" Kris cried shrilly, hoping that his mother wouldn't notice the unnatural amount of anxiety in his voice.  
  
"Honey? Are you all right?" came the reply from downstairs.  
  
"Damn," Kris mumbled to himself. "It's nothing! I'll be down in a minute!" Please go away, thought Kris.  
  
"Okay. I'm sorry to bother you, dear." Kris strained his ears until he could hear the sounds of someone rattling around in the kitchen. He got to his feet and ruffled Ziggy's fur. "Well, are ya' with me, buddy?" Ziggy gave a happy bark, and a smile drew itself upon Kris's mouth. "All right then. Time to face the music." Together the two trod down the stairs, taking in deep breaths, and Kris pushing his mind to the limit for a reasonable explanation, not knowing that he was about to receive a detailed one himself.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
SC: Okay, okay, I know that's a really bad place for a cliffhanger, but hey! I like making annoying cliffhangers. It gives the reader a chance to try and predict what happens next. ^__^ I repeat, I am SORRY for the late update! Blame Science Fair, go on, the lot of ya'! *cough* I hope y'all liked this chappy, because I spent much time spazzing out over it. I really hate curse words, but in order to make Kris sound more realistic I put them in. *shudder* This will take getting used to. Anyway, expect to see a LONG chapter next time (can't make any promises, but I'm pretty sure it wil be LONG). Later!  
  
A special note to reviewer Iveechan: Thank you. Your review made me feel really good about myself, my story, and my "talents" (it that's what one would call them) as a writer. It makes me feel happy, and you inspired me to write this chapter as quickly as was possible with school. This chapter's for you! ^__~ 


	3. Prelude to a Journey

Disclaimer: YES! They have done it! They showed Typhlosion! Hallelujah! I don't care if his voice was messed up, or if he was on-screen for a grand total of 25 seconds, because THEY SHOWED TYPHLOSION!!! (PS – I don't own Pokémon.)  
  
SC: I'm back! Finally! Sorry about the long wait, but this past month has been hectic. My excuse this time is... GIRL SCOUT COOKIES! They're a pain to sell. (Taste great, though.)  
  
This is the chapter in which we get a taste of Kris's past. Also, we hear an interesting idea from Wattson... heh, but I won't give it away. Pay attention!  
  
Also, a random poll I've decided to make: Whose side are you on? Are you rooting for the Zangeese? Or are you in allegiance with the high and almighty Sevipers? (Guess which side I'm on. ^__^) Answer honestly in your review, and I'll post the results in the next chapter.  
  
I've nothing more to say, so let's get on with the show! ^__~  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Kris stood balanced on the very last stair. His neck was craning over to one side, trying to catch a glimpse of his parents in the kitchen. Pam was busying herself with the dishes in the sink, and Ed was leafing through the _Mauville Morning News_ with interest. Ziggy's hot breath blew onto Kris's leg, warming the jeans that he wore. Kris had been formulating a plan, and mentally he ran through it again and again.  
  
He could see it all in his mind's eye: first he would sneak into the living room and get up against a wall so his parents couldn't see his back. Then he would call them into the room and ask them to talk. Once they were seated on the couch, he would launch into a speech about everything that had happened, and hope for the best. It wasn't much of a plan, but at least it _was_ a plan.  
  
Swallowing hard, Kris leapt from the stair in an attempt to cover more ground quickly; however, he misjudged the distance and landed face down in the middle of the living room. Realizing that his back was exposed to the open air, the boy flipped over as fast as he could, resulting in him clunking his head on the nearest table leg. He let out a yelp of pain before he could stop himself.  
  
"Honey, are you alright?" His mom had heard the noise and was peering through the doorway to see what was the matter.  
  
"I'm fine!" he piped in reply. Kris stood up quickly, brushed himself off, and leaned back against the wall as casually as he could with a throbbing head. "A-actually," he added once he had set himself up, "there is something I need to talk to you about."  
  
This got his mother's attention. Although Kris loved his mom and dad very much, he almost never talked to them, at least not like this. So it was a bit surprising to Pam to hear her son ask for time to converse. "What is it? Something serious?"  
  
"N-no," Kris stammered, pressing his back even harder against the wall, causing the ridge of bone to painfully drive itself into his skin. "It's s- something about school."  
  
"Well, come in here and tell us," Ed replied, not looking up from his newspaper.  
  
Mentally, Kris gave an exasperated sigh. Parents could be so difficult sometimes. Feeling a little bit less nervous, he said in a more normal tone of voice, "No, I think you should come in here." He paused, then added, "Please come in here. Both of you."  
  
Ed looked up from his paper and caught a worried glance from Pam. What could be troubling their son this much? Pam moved her eyes in the direction of the living room, and Ed sighed, folding his paper and emitting a soft groan as he stood from his chair. He entered the white-walled room behind his wife, and followed her suit as she sat on the wide green couch facing Kris.  
  
"So?" he asked once the two of them were seated comfortably. "What is it that you need to tell us?"  
  
Kris just stood there for a moment, thinking of where he should begin this zany tale. Ziggy nudged his leg in an encouraging way, making Kris swallow the feeling of butterflies deeper into his stomach and open his mouth.  
  
"Today – at school, that is – there was this kid." _Well, at least it's a start_, thought Kris. Pam raised an eyebrow in a "Go on" sort of way, and Kris gulped again. "I...he was bothering me in the hall, so at my first chance I ran from him."  
  
"How was he bothering you?" Ed asked suspiciously.  
  
"Uh, well... he was sorta' punching my face out and making me give him my money." Might as well be honest.  
  
"Oh honey, that's awful!" Pam cried in an 'oh-no-you're-hurt' voice. She stood up and made for Kris, aiming to examine him for signs of injury.  
  
"No!" Kris exclaimed, holding his arms out in front of him to prevent her advancement. "I mean..." he trailed off, "just sit back down, okay? I'm not done with my story." Pam looked at him hard, but he looked back harder with a pleading gaze, and she sat back down quietly.  
  
"Okay, so I managed to get away from this kid before he could hurt me too badly and steal my money. But you see, that kid apparently doesn't like it when he loses. So, after school I'm walking home and he ambushes me!" Kris waved his hands in the air as he said the last part, adding to the intensity of his words.  
  
"Oh, no!" Pam cried, and she was about to get up again, but Ed threw his arm across her lap, restraining her much like a seatbelt would.  
  
"What happened next?" Ed inquired, for he could tell that there was more – and that it was the most important part of the ordeal.  
  
"Next, well..." Kris lingered on the words, looked to Ziggy for help in wording his thoughts, and upon finding that no help would be coming from his Pokémon friend, he turned back to his parents. They looked at him in earnest, and it took several moments before he spoke.  
  
And he spent the next five minutes explaining everything that had happened in complete detail. He found that, once he started talking, it was easy to keep going without feeling awkward. Kris ended his speech with a turn to show his back to the "audience," allowing them to see the ridge of the folded wings and the wings themselves once he spread them apart. Pam gasped, and Ed opened his mouth in surprise.  
  
"So that's it." Kris finished, turning back around to face his astonished parents.  
  
"I... I... I don't know what to say," Pam said at barely above a whisper.  
  
"I do," Ed announced, crossing his arms and nodding. He leaned over and whispered something hurriedly to Pam, whose eyes grew wide, then narrowed again as though in thought. Then she too nodded, and Ed unfolded his arms and leaned forward in his seat.  
  
"You see, son," he began coolly. "We know this may come as a shock to you, but..." Ed looked the boy in the eyes, "you're adopted."  
  
Kris gaped, yet he hid his shock by covering with questions. "So there are others out there like me who are walking around like freaks? Why didn't you tell me? Who're my real parents?"  
  
Ed sighed. "I can answer two of those questions at once: we don't know. You didn't come to us by means of an adoption agency or anything like that, otherwise we'd have told you sooner."  
  
"The truth is," Pam interjected, taking her turn in the explanation, "we found a Pokémon egg in the mountains one day. Another Pokémon ate the others it was with, but I saved the last one, and your dad let me keep it until it hatched. We were going to give it to Wattson when it did hatch, but..."  
  
"But what?" Kris leaned forward, eager to find out what happened; yet somehow dreading the answer he might find.  
  
"... But _you_ hatched from that egg. We couldn't believe it: a human child born from an egg! But, we decided to keep you, and we never told you because we never quite understood it ourselves."  
  
Kris stared at them, aghast. He was in shock. He was born from a _Pokémon_ egg?! "So what does that make me? A Pokémon?!"  
  
Ed shook his head. "We don't know. We told Wattson what had happened right away, and he offered to have the gym's scientist do a DNA test to see if you had any Pokémon DNA in you at all."  
  
"And?"  
  
"And, they didn't know quite what to think. The DNA they got was clearly Pokémon DNA, but there was human DNA in it, too. From what I remember, they described it like the human part had been added in later, sort of like deciding to add chocolate to a recipe halfway through baking it."  
  
"So, what Pokémon species was it?" Kris asked.  
  
"Well... they don't know. It was DNA unlike any they had ever seen before. It didn't match any of the on-file species, but they did find a close resemblance." Ed closed his eyes, straining his brain to remember what the scientist had said. "It was closest to Seviper DNA, if I'm not mistaken."  
  
Kris thought back to the course on Pokémon that he had been required to take in sixth grade. He remembered the teacher talking about all of the Pokémon that lived in and around their city, as well as in neighboring cities like Lavaridge and Fallarbor. Kris recalled looking at pictures and seeing one of a black snake Pokémon, with curved red fangs and a wicked tail. Then he turned his head and eyed the blue wings on his back.  
  
"Um, Seviper?" he echoed. "Are you sure? They're black, aren't they? Not blue? And, I'm pretty sure they don't have any appendages at all, much less wings."  
  
"You're right," Pam agreed. "But remember, your father said that your DNA was only _closest_ to a Seviper's, not identical to it."  
  
"So what am I, some kind of mutant Poké-human?" After hearing all of this, Kris wouldn't put anything past the abnormal.  
  
Ed and Pam looked at each other, then Pam answered, "We told you, we don't know how it all works." She crossed the room and wrapped her arm around Kris's shoulders. "But, we love you, no matter what happens, and no matter how... different you may be. Your father feels the same way."  
  
Ed nodded, and he joined in their embrace, so that all three Drakes were standing in the middle of the room, hugging one another, except Kris, who was simply receiving them. Had this been another situation, Kris would be laughing his lungs out at the scene. But today, he remained silent, blinking constantly to keep back the welling feeling of tears behind his golden eyes.  
  
"Okay, okay, enough hugging!" he said after a minute, pulling back from the group. Kris hoped his parents hadn't heard the sniffling sound he made. "We need to find out how or why I got these," he jerked a thumb at his wings, "how I can get rid of them, and what I'm supposed to do at school until they're gone."  
  
Pam was going to say something drastic, like suggesting a specialist doctor, but Ed interrupted her. "School is out of the question. You said Jeremy ran away practically screaming? Then he'll have told anyone who'll listen about what happened. It's not safe." Kris had forgotten all about Jeremy, and he mentally thanked is father for remembering. "If anyone finds out about this, there would be news reporters and scientists in here who'd want to take him away and study him.  
  
"I suggest that he stays here at home. I can tell Wattson about the situation in secret if I must, but I say we just wait it out." Pam looked at him, confused. "We wait for a week or so. Let's just see if this whole thing will go away or not. If it doesn't, then we go to Wattson. Agreed?"  
  
The others nodded their heads in agreement. Kris hoped that these blasted wings _would_ go away, but something in the back of his mind made him doubt it.  
  
~*~*~  
  
The week Kris got off from school wasn't a very productive one. He spent the time when his mother and father were at work lounging around the house or outside it, often taking naps right along side Ziggy. Today, however, he grew bored of four days of sleeping, and decided to try something new.  
  
Kris had been sitting on the limb of an oak tree, staring off into space, when a flock of flying Pidgey caught his eye. He admired how easily they cut through the air, as a hot knife goes through butter. Watching their wings beat in a continuous motion, he realized that his own wings were moving, up and down, if only slightly. He looked back at the Pidgey again, and then smiled a daredevil smile. He was going to try to fly.  
  
It always looked so easy, whether in the movies or on TV, but in reality flight was a difficult thing. Ever more so for Kris, whose wings were built differently from most of the Flying-types. They lacked a joint, except where the bones met his spine, so that the wings didn't move as a Pidgey's did. He had to learn how to move his wings forward and back, rather than up and down, otherwise he would have created no lift.  
  
((My interruption: Okay, I'm going to attempt to illustrate the above.  
  
A bird's wings go like this: /^ ^\ The "^" symbol indicates the joint.  
  
Kris's wings go like this: / \  
  
When his wings are open, they look like this: \ /  
  
Open, \ /, closed, / \, open, \ /, closed, / \.  
  
Did that help? I want things to be clear. ^__^;;))  
  
Once he had trained his wings to move in the desired directions, Kris looked down. It was about ten feet to the ground from the branch he was on. Surely he could at least _glide_ down, right? Kris thought it to be logically reasonable; thus, he stretched his wings as far as they would go, angled them so the skin's surface area was parallel to the ground, and jumped.  
  
Kris had thought his wings would act like hang gliders, or at least parachutes. However they did neither, bending back against the wind's uplift, and did not aid in slowing Kris's fall in the least. He landed flat on his stomach in the dirt, the wind knocked out of him. Kris wrenched his nose free from the soil, spitting out a rock in the process. Behind him he could hear the sound of wheezing laughter.  
  
"Shut up, Ziggy," Kris growled. Ziggy stopped laughing, though his body shook from the chuckles he held back. Rather than getting annoyed at his Pokémon, Kris grinned ear to ear. He scooted over to the Linoone and ran one hand down its back. "Was I really that bad?" he asked it, still grinning.  
  
Ziggy barked and yipped, describing the scene perfectly in Pokémon language, but Kris could only understand part of it. He didn't know what the sounds translated to, be he could get the gist of what was being said by listening to tone of voice. That is, until...  
  
"Barrk, yi-bark, and then you were lying in the dirt! Your expression was priceless! I'd pay my food bowl to see that again!" Ziggy's barks slid to being words, actual sentences that Kris could understand! His heart skipped a beat. How? How in the world... ?  
  
"Ziggy!" Kris exclaimed, interrupting the Pokémon's latest thought. "You just... I can hear what you're saying!"  
  
"Well, yeah, you _heard_ me, but you can't _understand_ me. You can't understand Pokémon language!" the Linoone said, shrugging off Kris's statement.  
  
"Yes I can!" Kris answered, startling the Linoone. "I just did! You said that I couldn't understand your words, only hear them..." he trailed off.  
  
"If what you say is true," Ziggy challenged, "then repeat the sentence I'm about to say. 'Seakings are red, Lotads are blue. If you hear me say this, then you're insane too!'"  
  
"I guess I'm insane, then," Kris replied with a grin. Ziggy gaped at him. "But I don't get it: how can I tell what you're saying? I thought humans couldn't understand Poké-speech."  
  
"I'm not sure," Ziggy answered, looking at the ground. "Normally they can't." Kris noted the way Ziggy's voice sounded, as though he was speaking to his grandfather of sorts. He spoke with the wisdom of many years. "Maybe," Ziggy went on, "this has something to do with your wings?"  
  
"How so?" wondered Kris.  
  
"Perhaps the acquisition of those wings was no mere coincidence. What if it is something of a transformation? And what if there is more to come?" The Linoone's words echoed around in Kris's mind. More to come... the thought of things getting any worse made him shudder.  
  
"Are you saying... that rather than me being able to understand you, I'm speaking the same language as you?" Kris asked with a sinking feeling.  
  
Ziggy nodded. "I think so. Normally," he began, "human speech sounds muffled to us Pokémon, like the one talking has a pillow over his or her mouth. But you, I've noticed, sound a lot clearer and sharper now than you did a few minutes ago."  
  
Kris paused for a minute to soak up Ziggy's words. "Great," he muttered. "Just great." Ziggy looked at him reassuringly, but Kris was to busy looking at the ground to notice Ziggy's sympathy, or even his mom coming up behind him.  
  
"Don't feel so bad, Kris," Ziggy comforted, not noticing Pam approach either. "At least now you have a valuable skill! One who could speak Pokémon would surely get paid a lot!"  
  
Aw, look, thought Pam as she peered over the hedge and spotted the pair. Ziggy's rubbing his nose against Kris. I should take a picture. Pam was thinking about how cute this scene would be on a Christmas card, when she heard a strange noise. It sounded like various hissing sounds with ever- changing intonations. She looked around for the source, and upon looking down she saw her son's mouth moving in a reply to Ziggy's prodding nose.  
  
Except the hissing noises were his words.  
  
"Oh!" she exclaimed, bringing a hand to her forehead. "Oh dear God!"  
  
"Mom?" Kris asked, surprised. He whirled around and saw her swaying around, looking faint.  
  
"Mom, what's wrong?" Pam saw her son's mouth say, but she heard the hissing noise again, and then all was black.  
  
~*~*~  
  
"Mom! Mom!" a far off voice called.  
  
Pam opened her eyes and saw Kris leaning over her, behind which stood Ed, looking very concerned. "Kris? Honey, I could have sworn that I heard you..."  
  
"...Speaking Pokémon language?" Ed finished, gaining Pam's attention and a dropped jaw. "I heard it, too. He called me to tell me what happened, and after he hung up it took me a minute to realize that I hadn't understood any of what he had said. But I could tell it was bad by the tone, and I came home as quickly as possible."  
  
"So is he stuck talking like... that?" Pam asked, dreading the answer.  
  
Kris responded. "No," he said in normal speech, "but ssssss-some of it is- ssssss sssss-still in Pokémon-ssss." Pam let out a somewhat relieved sigh; having a son who could only speak half English was better than one who spoke none at all.  
  
Pam then voiced what was on everyone's mind. "So now what do we do?"  
  
"Surrah vee go to sssssee ssssssss," were the jumbled words and hisses that came from Kris's mouth.  
  
"Come again?"  
  
"Vee go to ssssss-see Wattsssssson," Kris managed to string together legibly.  
  
"Wattson," Ed restated. "It's simple. We go to see Wattson. He's been a Pokémon trainer all his life; surely he would know something, right? In all his years an event like this _must_ have happened before, and even if it hasn't, he has the resources to help us out."  
  
Pam nodded. "I suppose it's worth a try."  
  
~*~*~  
  
And so, the Drakes managed to sneak across town, with Kris wearing his father's brown trench coat to hide his wings. Even with all their secrecy, they still got some odd looks from people who were wondering why that boy's coat drug two feet behind him. Finally, after dodging many a confused stare, the family arrived at the doors to the gym.  
  
"It's a good thing I work here," said Ed once the door closed behind them and they were inside. "Normally the gym is closed to the public after this hour, but have a key. I also know where Wattson stays after hours." He grinned and led the way. Pam and Kris followed him until they were on the gym floor, complete with chalk outlines. Wattson was seated in a corner, polishing a sleeping Magnamite and concentrating very hard. Ed made a short coughing noise, startling the old man. Wattson turned his head and laughed when he saw the three standing there.  
  
"Ah, the Drake family, I presume," he said, standing up. "Wa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha- ha! What brings you here?"  
  
"It's something concerning our son," Ed explained, with a very serious tone.  
  
"Ah," Wattson noted. He turned and beamed at Kris, his aged face stretching to its fullest. "What seems to be the trouble, sonny?"  
  
"Vi'm ssssss-peaking in Pokémon-sssssss," Kris answered.  
  
Wattson jumped back. "Whoa, Nelly! That is a problem! Do step into my office!" He led the group through the nearest door, down a hallway, and into another room where he sat at an oak desk. For once, his face lacked the usual smile and held only a grim face. "Please explain what happened. What has caused this abnormality in your son's speech?"  
  
Kris opened his mouth to speak, when Ed cut in. "I think it's best if I told the story, because you... Well, you know." Kris nodded, and Ed launched into the speech that the three Drakes had already heard several times, beginning with what Kris had done at school and ending with the events in the garden. Silently, Kris sat, watching mixed emotions flow across the elderly gym leader's face. Once he was asked to stand and demonstrate his wings to the gym leader. Wattson had nodded curtly and motioned for Ed to carry on. Ed had just made it to the end when Wattson stood suddenly.  
  
"Perhaps..." he murmured. "This may be related to..."  
  
"What? What?" Pam cried, eager to hear more, eager to hear if Wattson knew what was wrong with Kris and if a cure existed.  
  
"I have heard tales since I was a lad. I'm afraid I don't remember all the details, but something in my heart tells me that your situation is related to those tales."  
  
Ed leaned forward in his chair. "What should we do?"  
  
Wattson chortled. "YOU don't do anything. KRIS must go to Fallarbor Town."  
  
"Huh? Why should he go there?" Pam demanded, on the edge of her seat. Kris rolled his eyes. Overprotective again.  
  
"Because that is where the tale I heard originated. Perhaps some of the locals would know more about it."  
  
Ed was about to say something about him not thinking this was a good idea, when Pam slammed her hand down onto the desk. "He's not going! He shouldn't have to! We'll go for him, or with him, but he won't go by himself!"  
  
Wattson put up his hands defensively. "Now, now, Miss Drake, I disagree. I merely want to help Kris as much as you yourself do. This is, however, a major event in Kris's life and he should handle it by himself."  
  
"By himself?" she challenged. "He's never left the city! Not to mention his newly acquired speech problem! How is he to get 'help from the locals' if he can't even communicate with them?!"  
  
Kris watched Wattson and his mother argue back and forth. It made him mad inside to hear them speak of him as though he wasn't in the room. So mad, in fact, that he interrupted their fight. He rose to his feet so fast that his chair was knocked over with a clatter, silencing the two adults effectively.  
  
"Stop it!" Kris hollered at the two, his voice now miraculously devoid of all hissing. "Why don't you let me decide whether I go or not? It's my trip anyway!"  
  
Pam turned and stared. "But honey..."  
  
"No buts Mom! I'm fifteen years old for crying out loud!" he snapped.  
  
Ed and Pam glanced at each other; Ed looked sternly at Pam, who swallowed. "Alright, if that's what you want... You can decide if you want to go, or..."  
  
"I'm going," Kris said instantly.  
  
Wattson smiled at Kris's decision. "Mister and Misses Drake, if I may speak to your son alone for a minute? There are some things I'd like to tell him before he goes."  
  
"Sure," Ed said before Pam could refuse the request, and he steered her out of the room. The door closed softly behind them.  
  
"Kris, there's something I must tell you," Wattson said, looking very serious. Kris blinked, then nodded. "One of my ex-Junior Trainers had a Zangoose."  
  
A blank, golden-eyed stare. "So what?" asked Kris.  
  
"Well, I have several Magnamite that roam the gym, right? One of them overheard the Zangoose talking, and it came and told me what it had heard."  
  
Kris huffed. He'd had enough of "people understanding Pokémon" for one day, but Wattson went on before Kris could express his annoyance. "You've heard of the rivalry between the Zangeese and the Sevipers? Well, this Zangoose had apparently hacked into a radio and was communicating with its fellows. It declared an immediate attack on the Sevipers."  
  
Another stare followed by an exasperated sigh. "So?"  
  
"So, I sent a Magnamite out to gather info from wild Pokémon near Fallarbor. It found that the Sevipers were trying to increase their numbers and create stronger fighters by breeding with other Pokémon. Remember the DNA test we did? Your DNA doesn't match anything, but it's closest to a Seviper's. There was also a small trace of another Pokémon's DNA. We aren't sure what it is, but we know it's a powerful one."  
  
A moment's pause. Then Wattson concluded with: "I found that out sixteen years ago."  
  
A lightning bolt of realization struck Kris hard. He was fifteen years old. "So... Does that make me a Seviper? Am I part of some 'war effort?'"  
  
"I never said that. What I'm saying is that if you go back to where you were found, you may find your real parents. Your _Pokémon_ parents," Wattson said, and then paused. "They may be able to help you."  
  
Kris pondered that for a moment, then his gaze swiftly locked onto Wattson's. "Hey, wait a minute. What about all that crap you said about the 'tales' and stuff?"  
  
"Oh, that?" Wattson chuckled again. "That was just something I made up to convince your parents to let you go."  
  
Kris blinked. "Well, uh... thanks."  
  
"Don't mention it," Wattson said. "Especially not to your parents! If they find out they won't let you go!" The elderly man reached over his desk and patted the boy's shoulder. "Good luck to you, then! Wa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!"  
  
"Right," Kris agreed. He stood, and he faced the door. Soon, he thought, I'll be on my way to being normal again. Or, at least I'll be on my way to some answers.  
  
~*~*~  
  
SC: *wheeze* Finally! I thought I'd never finish that! Wow, that wasn't as long as I thought it'd be. Oh well! I can just spend the room down here clarifying a few things. First off, does Kris really seem that un-human to y'all? I'm trying to write him as a human who's just... got some problems. No actually, he _isn't_ human, but it's not a major element in the story right now.  
  
The thing I can compare Kris the closest to is Cody from the Disney Channel movie "The Thirteenth Year." That is my favorite original movie! If you get a chance, watch it and you'll see what I'm talking about.  
  
Next, is my work _really_ that descriptive? I'm not saying it's a bad thing, I'm just saying that you readers are complimenting me so much it's surreal. This is the fic that I put the most effort into, though. I actually edit this one, which I don't do on any of the others. Maybe that's why I get complimented. ^^ If you like detailed, well-written, and non-AAMR Pokémon fics, I highly recommend "Shadows of Pokémon" by Alyssa Myuu. I swear, it's the _best_ Pokémon fic I've ever seen. No trainers, excellent plot... and original personalities on Pokémon you thought you knew. It's great; go read it now. I command thee!  
  
SC: All right! Enough! I've ranted for too long! I don't want to hold you up! Please leave a nice review, and I'll get to work on the next chappy! Don't forget about the poll when you review! 'Till next time, I bid thee farewell. 


	4. Prelude to a Discovery

Disclaimer: Nope, I haven't seen my name slapped onto a random Pokémon product next to the copyright information.  
  
SC: ... Man, do I feel bad about this. I'M SO SORRY! BUT SCHOOL MUST COME FIRST! (That, and it's softball season, which means I have even more on my plate right now.) You know what? I'm just gonna' be quiet. You don't want to hear my excuses.  
  
For this chapter, I have created a few phrases of my own original language. Rather than giving the translations during the story, I have made a key at the end of the chapter with English equivalents. A note on the pronunciation of my language: imagine a cross between French and Japanese that sounds like German when read aloud quickly. Yeah. Hope that helps, assuming that it helps at all.  
  
By the way, has anyone noticed how much my version of Wattson is like Dumbledore from the Harry Potter Books? Maybe it's my imagination.  
  
~*~*~  
  
After exiting Wattson's office and closing the door softly behind him, Kris sighed and kicked the floor. What a week it's been, he thought. And now, I've been roped into going to Fallarbor on some wild goose chase. Sheesh, I'm not even sure what Wattson's yapping about, the old coot. Assuming that my Poké-parents are still alive, they're probably long gone from Fallarbor. Stupid geezer.  
  
Meanwhile, scattered sounds filtered through the air and reached his ear. Kris could hear his "real" parents talking from within the next room. He heard his mother's worried chitters, and his father's deeper, reassuring comments trailing behind.  
  
"I just don't think it's a good idea." Pam's voice sounded quite nervous, almost desperate.  
  
"I'm sure he'll be fine, dear," Ed replied comfortingly, attempting to instill calm in his wife.  
  
Pam didn't even bother with manners as she snapped back at him. "Don't you 'dear' me! What if the same thing happens again? You heard his explanation of how his wings just 'appeared' out of thin air! What would happen if something else like that befell him while he was away? What would the people who saw him do? I just can't bear to think about it!" she cried, nearly weeping.  
  
Kris moved up next to the door and pressed his ear against the wood. Promptly, the sounds from the other side sharpened and became less faint. "Honey, come on. He was facing what must have felt like mortal peril at the time. I trust that our son can take care of himself." The sound of Ed's footsteps crossing the room was followed by a soft sob from Pam. Kris was aghast, for he had never seen, or in this case heard, his mother cry before. On any normal day, she would remain perky even in the face of conflict. Sure, she was a bit overprotective at times, but still, he couldn't believe that all this ruckus was about him.  
  
Slowly, the youth edged silently away from the room where his parents were and scooted down the hall on tiptoe. Once he was far enough away from the room so that his parents couldn't hear him, he broke into an all-out run. Kris tore through the halls and slammed into the glass double doors, nearly winding himself as he escaped into the outside. He ran and ran through the fading sun's light till he reached his own familiar home.  
  
The fence acted as a hurdle, allowing Kris to leap over it as a professional sprinter would. The back door remained unlocked, and he finally slowed his pace to turn the brass handle and enter the abode. Huffing for breath, Kris stood for a moment in the kitchen to shut the door behind him, and then wasted no time in heading for his room. The stairs seemed taller and took longer to climb, but finally he was in his room, wherein he broke down on his bed, in hysterics. Melancholy mixed with anger and pride as he mentally cursed his parents, or, particularly, his mom, for being so negative about his own abilities. It made him feel so insignificant, so worthless, to hear his own mother downgrade him so.  
  
Kris spent five minutes half sobbing and half fuming, until what anger had filled him had flowed away. He quieted down, and then rested in silence for a minute. What was their problem, anyway? He hadn't even told them about how angry he'd been at Jeremy at the time. Then gradually, it dawned on him. "Anger," Kris said slowly, remembering back to his confrontation with the pompous bully. Brief flashes of memories took him back to the moment his wings had grown, to the sensation of lava in his veins. "It was the anger... that fiery feeling... that made me go berserk." He sat still for a moment, pondering. "Mom and Dad don't know that...  
  
"And they don't need to." Kris stood abruptly, and grabbed his backpack from the desk beside his bed. He began filling it with the clothes that littered the floor. Digging into the closet, he even broke into his savings, opening the jar and spilling the loose coins and bills into the front pocket of the bag. Then Kris turned and leapt down the stairs two at a time, heading for the kitchen, where he stuffed packages of crackers, chips, and even a can of lima beans amongst his clothes.  
  
The backpack zipped roughly closed, and Kris was almost out the door when something made him turn back to face the house. Ziggy was blinking up at the youth, sniffling his nose and making a soft whining sound. The Pokémon knew what Kris was up to, and it also knew that it could not stop him. He had merely come to say goodbye. Kris leaned over and massaged Ziggy's neck firmly. Ziggy's eyes closed lazily, and he basked in Kris's attention for a long while before Kris pulled away.  
  
"I'm sorry, Ziggy," he began, "but I'm going to leave. I have to. I don't know what I'll find, but I know it will be a hard way's going. Will you take care of Mom and Dad while I'm away?" Ziggy nodded, uttering a few yips and barks. For some reason, Kris could no longer understand the Pokémon's speech, but that didn't matter right now. He flashed a grin. "Thanks, buddy. Especially Mom, 'cause I know she'll be distraught about my leaving."  
  
Kris moved toward the door, but was made to stop as Ziggy tugged on his pant leg. It was a futile effort, one last "Don't go!" He smiled, and leaned over to give his only friend in the world one last pat on the head. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine where I'm going. All you have to worry about is what you'll do around here while I'm gone." Kris paused for a moment as he chuckled at the thought. "I promise I'll come back safe, okay? Just don't forget me." With that he turned, and pulling the door shut behind him he heard what he thought was a faint "Goodbye," and then he was gone, off on his journey.  
  
~*~*~  
  
If only he had known, back when he had left behind his quaint house on the edge of Mauville, that the going would be a lot harder than he thought. For one thing, Kris had absolutely no experience at being out in the wild. Sure, he had been in Scouting for a year or two, but only when he was very young, about seven, and he had never made it past the Growlithe level. Secondly, and this was most likely his biggest problem, Kris had no earthly idea where Fallarbor was, except that it was to the northwest of where he lived. And so, having very little to go on, Kris trekked onward with his low morale.  
  
"Accursed rocks," he spat, kicking at the pebbles and stones that littered the path before him. They caused him a lot of problems lately. Contrary to his own belief, there was not a huge forest west of Mauville; rather, there was a rocky grade dotted sparsely with gnarled trees. For a whole day Kris had been walking uphill through the abundant rocks that slowed his progress.  
  
He continued on in this same manner for a few hours until the sun climbed to the top of the sky at high noon, when he chose to rest under the shade of a large boulder lying nearby. Cracking open a bag of chips, Kris chowed down in solitude when a young picnicking boy appeared on the edge of the hill, climbing up the bumpy slope just as Kris had done a few minutes ago. He wore olive green shorts that matched his uniform-like shirt. Every so often he would bring a hand across his forehead and wipe up the sweat that formed under his hat. Slung over his shoulder lay a bulky pack, seemingly full of square packages. Trying to avoid being seen, Kris attempted to put away his chips quietly; however, the bag made a loud rustling sound and the boy spotted him milling under the boulder. He rushed over excitedly.  
  
"Hiya! How ya' doing there, buddy?" the boy chimed in a perky, energetic voice. Kris rolled his eyes. Clearly, this was one of those types of people who never shut up. "Are you a Pokémon trainer? Do ya' want to battle?"  
  
"Sorry," Kris answered, not sounding regretful at all. "I'm not a trainer."  
  
"Oh," the boy's face fell, "okay. Sorry to bother you, then. Later." He trotted off to resume his scale up the mountain.  
  
Stupid idiot, thought Kris. He probably doesn't even know where he's going, like me... A sudden idea struck Kris. "Hey kid, wait!" he called. The boy paused and turned to look back. "Hey kid, do you happen to know which way Fallarbor town is from here?" It wouldn't hurt to ask.  
  
A grin blossomed across the picnicker's face. "Sure I do! I carry messages back and forth between here and Fallarbor all the time! See, we're on Mt. Chimney right now," he waved his hand at the expanse of the rocks around him, "but to climb over the mountain would take days. It's much easier to go around the left-hand side of the mountain, where the forest is." He pointed off to the west, and surely enough Kris could see the tops of the tallest trees, just visible on the horizon.  
  
Kris re-zipped his backpack and stood up. "Thanks, kid." He turned and started for the strip of green laying in the west. Behind him he heard the boy's scrunching footsteps as he struggled to catch up.  
  
"Wait! Do you want to walk with me? I've traveled this route many times before, and obviously you haven't..." The boy huffed, a bit out of breath. "I can help you out!"  
  
Quickening his pace, Kris called over his shoulder, "No thanks! I have some... personal things to deal with. I'd rather be alone when I do them, thank you." He kept walking. "Maybe I'll see you around sometime."  
  
"Sure thing!" the boy called back. "The name's Ian! Look me up when you get to Fallarbor, okay? I'll be there!"  
  
"Whatever," Kris mumbled, jogging away until he was out of Ian's sight. "Yeah, I'll look you up, Ian, if I need my brain to explode from annoyance."  
  
Glad to be away from the trainer and out of that mess, Kris slowed his pace. All too soon the forest was looming in front of him, seemingly beckoning him into its shadowy confines. Actually, Kris liked being in the forest, at least now there were trees to blot out the harsh rays of the sun. The dappled light played on his face as he traipsed through the woods' soothing calm. Later, he ended up having to pull out his jacket and put it on as the evening drew nearer and the temperature dropped.  
  
Night fell, replacing the sun's warm light with the moon's wintry beams. Shivering, Kris found a small alcove of protective trees, where he planned to spend the night. Their thick trunks formed a wall behind him, and their pliant roots arched gracefully overhead. He pulled out his extra clothes and laid them across himself to act as a blanket. Then, feeling the fatigue of the day catch up with him, Kris's eyelids drooped, and then all was veiled in the fog of sleep.  
  
~*~*~  
  
Sha-kish! Sha-kish!  
  
Kris sat up. It was the dead of night, and all was still in the forest around him. Not a cricket chirped, and not a mouse scurried over dry leaves. There was no noise at all except for a distant rustling that carried on the breeze.  
  
Sha-kish! Sh-sh-sha-kish!  
  
The sound had grown closer now. Kris felt unsure of what to do. What if the thing making the noise was a Pokémon? He had nothing to defend himself with but his bare fists, and the trees surrounded him on three sides, leaving only one way in and out of the alcove. Kris thought he heard rapid hissing noises just beyond the bushes in front of him. Straining to see in the overhanging darkness, Kris stared ahead, looking for the source of the noises. Glowing yellow eyes laced with red appeared slowly, looming in front of him. "Oh, crud!" he cried, backing away from whatever it was. The thing paused, considering its options, and then its eyes turned blood red. A painful, blinding light filled Kris's head, sending spasms of pain shooting down his limbs. "Aah!" he yelled, falling back. He brought up his hands to attempt to block the light, but still it came, and still the throbbing pain filled his head. Kris felt his body numb, his arms and legs slacken, and then he fell over, unconscious.  
  
* * *  
  
"Ugh," Kris muttered, face in the dirt. He felt like he had been hit with a lead weight. His arms seemed too heavy to lift, and he was aware that the air had turned dank and musty. Struggling to move his head, Kris managed to roll over onto his back and stare at the ceiling of wherever he was. Strangely, his eyes were filled with flashing spots of light, like what happens when you take a flash picture. But even without his vision, he could tell where he was by the temperature and dampness of the air. It seemed he was in an underground cave, carved from the dirt of the forest above him. Vaguely aware of a dim conversation behind him, Kris sluggishly moved his head, allowing his ear to listen in on the voices.  
  
"Karra-shik has nés?"  
  
"Èrre reine isht taike."  
  
The sentences in a different language confused, almost surprised him. "Wha- what?" Kris asked, trying to focus his eyes on the two speakers.  
  
Whoever or whatever they were, they seemed startled by his response. "Has- sé kèrile! Fachte Pyrraine!" The first thing had obviously told the second to go and get something, for Kris heard one of them skitter down the tunnel feverishly.  
  
Kris struggled to sit up and force his eyes to single out the thing in front of him, but they wouldn't obey. "'Fachte Pyrraine?' What?" Somehow, in the slow, foggy corners of his mind, the words found a meaning to him. He could understand! Not really sure of why this was so, Kris pulled out an answer. "Kahi'isht Pyrraine? Daré ikst sei nés ici?"  
  
"He speaks our language! Unforgivable!" The thing sounded appalled that a mere human could answer him. By now, Kris could pretty much tell that the thing wasn't a human, even if his eyes could not verify that fact. The mysterious being snapped some words at someone who was coming up the tunnel. "Pyrraine! Has loku nosé silvre! He speaks our language! Explain how a human can do such a thing!"  
  
"Denamu." Another of the things had arrived to their nook of the tunnel, and judging by the tone of his voice he was an elder. He spoke softly, and though Kris could not see outlines he could tell that its movement was slow. The being slid a bowl of some kind of liquid across the ground to Kris, and said in the language from earlier, "Burèkst. It will help your vision."  
  
Could Kris trust this person? Did he really have any other choice? Ah well. Unable to maneuver his hands, Kris was forced to slurp it up noisily in a cat-like manner. The liquid slid down his throat like syrup. Sharply, the flavor of cherries tantalized his tongue. A warm feeling seeped through Kris's body and amazingly his arms and legs felt lighter and easy to move. He propped himself into a sitting position, so that ridge on his back where his wings were attached lightly touched the dirt wall behind him. His eyes refocused on the one who had brought him the miracle medicine.  
  
"Holy...!" Kris exclaimed, nearly kicking the bowl over on the floor. The one called 'Pyrraine' was an elder, as Kris had guessed, but he was an elderly _Seviper_. The black of his scales had aged to silver, and his fangs showed the scars of many battles long ago fought. His eyes shone a deep navy blue, sparkling like the night sky with all its wisdom. He seemed to be smiling, although the other Seviper next to him, presumably a guard, did quite the opposite. The one who had sent for Pyrraine earlier looked like any other Seviper, but with a loopy clover-shaped symbol carved deftly onto his chest. It was the mark of an officer, a very dignified and hard-to-get position. He looked shocked, backed up against the tunnel war for fear of being "contaminated" by this horrible creature.  
  
Sensing his tension, the elder spoke reassuringly to the officer. "It is all right, Captain. You need not fear this boy," Pyrraine informed him. "There is nothing this boy can do to you."  
  
Through the bars of his cell, for he was indeed imprisoned, Kris watched the officer drop all sense of formality as he replied. "Sorry sir, but are you nuts? This 'boy,' as you say, speaks our language perfectly! And he came from the human world, where not even wild Pokémon know of our secrets! Surely he is a demon of some sort, or a trick sent by the Zangeese!"  
  
Pyrraine gave an exasperated sigh. "You overreact, Captain. You brought this boy here when you found him on your rounds, correct?" The other Seviper nodded. "Then how can he be sent by the Zangeese? If he had been, then he'd have been looking for us." He turned a wise eye on Kris. "However, I see no need to stand guard over the captive anymore, now that he is awake. You are relieved of your duty for the night, Captain."  
  
"Yes Sir!" Captain enunciated clearly, then slithered off quickly, heading somewhere down the tunnel away from the "harmless" boy.  
  
"Now then, boy, what is your name?" Pyrraine inquired softly.  
  
Kris jumped at being addressed. Thus far he had only been listening. "M-Me sir?"  
  
"Do you see any other boys in that cell with you?"  
  
"No sir. Uh, my name is Kris, sir," he recited.  
  
"Kris. I like it." Pyrraine gave a comforting smile. "It has a very nice sound to it. Almost like it came straight from our language. Speaking of which," he changed the subject, "how is it that you understand our traditional speech?"  
  
"I just... I don't know how, I just can." Kris looked at the floor.  
  
"To be able to know a dialect as ancient as this one instantly... Hmm. You may be the one... I may have to look into this. How old are you, Kris?"  
  
"Fifteen, sir."  
  
"Yes, that's about right..." Pyrraine trailed off in thought. "Am I right in guessing that you live somewhere near Mauville City?"  
  
"Uh, yeah, that's right sir," Kris answered.  
  
"You can cut the 'sirs.' I'm not that worthy. Anyway, yes, you seem to fit the descriptions perfectly... Even down to the eyes."  
  
Kris's face grew red with annoyance as the old Pokémon muttered on. "What 'descriptions?' What about my eyes? Just what the heck are you talking about, Snakey?"  
  
He half expected Pyrraine to retaliate, yet all he did was look up and, strangely, beam. "My, my, what an anxious boy! You're going to have to learn to be patient. However, we must save that for another day. Right now, there's someone I think you should meet."  
  
Pyrraine inserted his tail blade into a mechanism attached to the door and twisted it, unlocking the cell. Once Kris had gotten out and dusted himself off, Pyrraine turned, leading him down a series of twisting and turning tunnels that snaked about almost as much as a real Seviper. As they walked on, Kris made a note of his surroundings. They were indeed in a cave, roots from the trees above poking through the walls here and there. A city of tunnels that seemed to multiply exponentially filled his plane of vision. Dozens of smaller roads blossomed off the larger ones. Sometimes the paths were wide, like highways, where he saw hundreds of other Sevipers stop and stare as the two walked (or in Pyrraine's case, slithered) by. Other times the road grew so narrow that Kris had to get down on his hands and knees and crawl through until it grew wider again. Eventually, the two reached an area where there were no other Sevipers. It was here, alone in an isolated tunnel that Pyrraine stopped and spoke to Kris.  
  
"Do you know why you were brought here by the Captain?" the elder inquired. Kris shook his head, his blond-tipped spikes swaying in the breeze the action created. "You were taken from the forest into our city because of your scent. You have the Seviperian gene almost floating in the air around you. You 'smell' like us, and now, upon examining you, I have reason to believe that you _are_ us."  
  
Anticipating the youth's reaction, Pyrraine held up his tail blade just as Kris opened his mouth to contradict him. "Now, now, let's not be so hasty to deny the truth. The second reason you were brought here is because the Captain saw those interesting wings of yours." Kris glanced over his shoulder and looked over the cerulean, fin-like wings that cascaded down his back. Was it just him, or did they seem longer? Oh well, now's not the time. "Fearing that you might cause trouble," Pyrraine went on, "he used a Glare attack to paralyze you before you could find our home."  
  
The two began moving again, and Kris noticed how the air kept getting more and more humid as they traipsed onward. "And finally, the third reason, which brings us to why we are going to see my old friend." Pyrraine led Kris into an offset, cave-like room. The middle of the floor housed a grand lake, pure and shimmering with each drip of water from above. Kris peered into it and found that the lake went too deep to see the bottom, even though the water was crystal clear. He turned and looked at Pyrraine. "Whom can we meet here?" he wondered aloud.  
  
"Someone who I have been listening to the troubles of for years, and who should know about your arrival," the aged serpent answered. Dipping his tail into the icy water and waving it a bit, Pyrraine called out into the open air of the room: "Kairyu! It's me, Pyrraine!" Almost in response to the cry, a lone bubble floated up to the surface of the lake and popped noiselessly. "Come on up now! I need to speak to you!" Pip-pop! Two bubbles broke the surface nonchalantly. "Women," Pyrraine muttered, for the first time sounding annoyed. He brought the battered blade of his tail down with a splash. "Kairyu! I'll have none of your nonsense! Get up here and meet the guest I've brought, you selfish old clam!"  
  
The surface of the lake went wild with frantic bubbles everywhere. Kris could barely make out a shadowy something moving in the water's depths, stirring after what must have been a long rest. Whatever it was moved closer to the surface fiercely and rapidly. Fighting the urge to back away frightfully, Kris gasped when it broke the surface. An elegant, navy blue sea serpent raised itself out of the water, curling its tail behind it and blinking the water out of its soft amethyst eyes. Small rivulets of water ran down the lime green fin adorning its back and over the lighter blue markings on its sides as it glided across the lake to the shore. Two glimmering steel blades swept back in a fin shape crowned its tail, and edging each fang was a smaller version of the ridge on its back.  
  
As Kris gaped at this majestic creature, he noticed the sheer annoyance painted across her face. The watery entity slithered out of the pool and made for Pyrraine. "There was no need to call me names, Pyrraine. You merely may have said that we had a guest. Or, to be honest, I was waiting for you to say 'please.'" Pushing right by Kris, not even noticing him, the middle-aged serpent scooted towards the entrance to the room, peering inside the tunnel anxiously. "Well, Pyrraine? Just where is this guest?"  
  
"You just walked past him," he answered with an amused smile. Kairyu whirled around and saw Kris, who was currently looking at the floor, for the first time. She panicked, her eyes wide with fear.  
  
"A human! Here! In our sacred city!" Kris jerked his head upward in time to see a flash of light reflect off the steel blades rushing towards him. He tried to dodge, but he didn't move fast enough and was nicked on the arm. A crimson line drew itself on his flesh, but Kris didn't have time to tend to the cut as Kairyu lashed out again with her tail.  
  
"Geez, lady! Stop killing me! _He's_ the one who brought me here; go attack him!" Kris yelled angrily, pointing at Pyrraine while simultaneously dodging another blow.  
  
The enraged serpent faltered. "He did what?" Kairyu turned her fierce gaze on Pyrraine. "You brought the human here? You traitor! You deserve to have your tail ripped off by a Houndoom!" she screeched.  
  
"Hear now," Pyrraine countered calmly. "I did not bring him here for just any reason." He brought his scarred blade around and pressed Kairyu's down so that she would not strike. "Take a look at his eyes, dear. See for yourself."  
  
Kairyu rounded so swiftly that she nearly cut Pyrraine's tail with her own. Next she leaned in so close to Kris that he could scarcely breathe. Their eyes were only two inches apart, and he could see his cold, auric orbs reflected in Kairyu's contrasting soft, violet ones.  
  
CLANG!  
  
The echoing sound of metal on rock rang out loudly as the sea serpent's tail slumped to the ground. Kairyu's expression flowed with disbelief. "Those eyes... they're just like his... Oh, Auron! I have found him! He has returned!  
  
She broke down in joyous sobs. Kris could only lean over her, blinking in confusion. He caught sight of Pyrraine and edged over to him, leaving Kairyu to tears. "Psst! Hey Pyrraine, what's up with her?" he whispered.  
  
"Ah yes, you'll have to excuse her," he replied. Kris saw that Pyrraine was watching Kairyu fondly, navy eyes sparkling with reflected joy. "She has gone through a lot of emotional pain these past few years, and one often feels joy when it is lifted..."  
  
"Sei-en hyios," Kairyu whispered, turning her dampened gaze on Kris.  
  
"After all," Pyrraine continued, "she has just found her son."  
  
~*~*~  
  
English equivalents of Seviperian phrases:  
  
"Karra-shik has nés?" = "How is he doing?"  
  
"Èrre reine isht taike." = (The) Human boy is asleep.  
  
"Has-sé kèrile! Fachte Pyrraine!" = "He has awakened! Fetch Pyrraine!"  
  
"Kahi'isht Pyrraine? Daré ikst sei nés ici?" = "Who is Pyrraine? What am I doing here?"  
  
"Has loku nosé silvre!" = "He speaks our language!"  
  
"Denamu." = "Hush."  
  
"Burèkst." = "Drink."  
  
"Sei-en hyios." = My son.  
  
Pronunciation of Seviper names:  
  
Pyrraine = PEER-enn  
  
Kairyu = KEYE-ree-oo (It's a Japanese name. I'm sure many of you can recognize Japanese syllables.)  
  
SC: Wow, that came out shorter than I thought. And so, the plot thickens. Who is this "Auron" I mentioned earlier? Why is Kairyu different than other Sevipers? Will I update faster next time? AH HA HA HA HA! I have left you with an evil cliffhanger! BWA HA HA! *cough* Sorry, didn't mean to be evil there. Anyway, I am really, really, REALLY SORRY for such a long delay! There's just been project after project at school recently... And then there's the ever-looming TAKS test... Stupid state administered assessments. -__-;  
  
Since I feel so bad, I want to make a note here. I –NEVER- forget about my stories. I'm –ALWAYS- writing _something_ or another, it just may not be this particular story. For example, recently I've been planning out ideas for a seven story fanfiction series about Yu-gi-oh... *holds up notebook* ... but I don't deny that this has been neglected. In the future, if you think I'm taking too long to update, don't hesitate to e-mail me and make sure I'm on track. I will do my part to stop making up new story ideas so that this one will get done. Thanks for reading and reviewing! ^__~  
  
~SC 


	5. Prelude to Darkness

Disclaimer: Welcome to the redundant city of Redundancy City. May we help you? (PS – Nope, I don't own it.)  
  
SC: Been wishing for an antagonizing force? Here it is. Hopefully, posting this chapter a week after the previous one will help my redemption to you all.  
  
Prologue to Darkness  
  
~*~*~  
  
In a distant land many paces to the east, on another continent, the sun's fiery eye was just setting behind the hilltops. Etched sharply against the pale orange sky like a spidery dagger stood a tall, looming tower comprised of jutting turrets and wicked spires. Below it, trees and bushes fell into its ever-growing shadow as the sun lowered itself into its bed for the evening. Throughout the building's interior, lights snapped on in an instant as the creatures within awakened. Lying pitifully under the clinging shadow, the nearby human city of Ecruteak softly nestled in for sleep, blissfully unaware of the pillar of darkness that remained invisible to the humans' eyes.  
  
Fushia claws clicked furiously on the barren steel floor of the hallway as a disgruntled Zangoose walked briskly down it. Clasped in the creature's scarlet paw was a tablet, covered in extensive notes and calculations. He turned suddenly, the claws skidding slightly against the ground, and faced a blank metal door. A security device located beside the entrance blipped when he placed his eye to the scanner bed and allowed him secure passage into the room beyond. Not a moment later he was surrounded by dozens of other entities like himself.  
  
A distraught Zangoose rushed over to the first. "Iolaas! Sir! We have some news to report!"  
  
Iolaas wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Who said you could approach me in such a manner? I am the head of this research team, and I only respond to those who abide by my regulations, is that clear, Worker Number..." he bent forward to read the other's name badge, "... Fifty-seven?"  
  
Fifty-seven's lip trembled a response. "Y-yes sir! Your orders are the law here, sir!"  
  
"Very good. Now," Iolaas extended a violet claw and twirled it around his chin, partially to mock the low-ranking worker, partly to intimidate him. "You said you had a report? Report it already!" Fifty-seven squeaked in fear below the overseer's voice.  
  
"Yes sir! R-right away, sir!" The frightened creature flipped through a file that lay on a nearby desk. "Ah, here it is, the news from Area One."  
  
"Area One..." mumbled Iolaas contentedly. Area One was the section the Research Department had devoted to studying ancient texts and legends. "This may prove rewarding. What say you?"  
  
The worker raised the paper before his eyes and tremulously read aloud: "T- To the Head Overseer, Area Five, Iolaas. This is a message concerning the obelisk discovered outside Olivine not long ago by our field researchers. After days of deciphering the text, our experts have translated the runes depicted on the sides. There is to be a gathering held tonight, and - Eek!" Fifty-seven dropped the paper suddenly as his eyes fell upon a certain word. Not a split second later, Iolaas's claw rested an inch from the worker's throat.  
  
"Fool," Iolaas snarled past ivory fangs. "You dare disrupt my message with your bumbling fears? You should be happy you get the privilege of completing an honorable job such as reading me my message. Now tell me, what did the rest of it say?"  
  
"It said... It said that the Lord wants you present for the reading of the deciphered words," he answered, then cowered in terror at the mere thought of the dark being who ruled the tower.  
  
"...The Lord himself requests my presence? Are you sure of that?" An excitable event as it was, Iolaas didn't believe it feasible.  
  
"Yes, of course sir! It says so right here!" Fifty-seven raised a claw and pointed to the Lord's personal seal, like a pancaked spider, stamped harshly against the thin paper.  
  
Iolaas pondered this. He turned away from the shivering worker and made for the steel door he had just entered. "Back to your post, Fifty-seven. I must prepare for tonight."  
  
"As you wish, sir!" chirped Fifty-seven before scurrying back to his work.  
  
~*~*~  
  
Iolaas smoothed his fur anxiously as the elevator climbed to the top of the tower's tallest spire. Lord Shaelvar personally invited him to the gathering... a grand honor indeed. The Ruler of Zyrcon Tower never came into contact with anyone except his most trusted minions... and those who did well at their posts.  
  
Perhaps Lord Shaelvar has heard of my progress in the field of battle technologies, Iolaas thought. Or maybe, he mused to himself, he wishes to promote me, and move me to Area One. The overseer fantasized the possibilities fondly until the sudden brake of the elevator popped his thought bubble. He stepped out, feeling the cold whoosh of air as the doors clamped shut behind him.  
  
He stood before a towering set of double doors, ebony as a crow's wings at night, which seemed to stretch up infinitely so that one couldn't see the top. Almost as if the doors acknowledged Iolaas's arrival, they swung themselves open, creaking and groaning at the hinges. Beyond the darkness beckoned, and Iolaas entered, feeling the tiny pinpricks of fear tickle his insides despite the fact that he knew what crept within. Why should he be afraid? Lord Shaelvar was completely safe to be around.  
  
Mostly.  
  
The faint sounds of other Zangeese breathing in the room enveloped him. "Ah, Iolaas, glad you could make it," a voice like low thunder said, words rolling through the gloom. "I was afraid that your duties had kept you from us."  
  
The pinpricks turned to stabbing icicles, but Iolaas ignored them. "Never could such lowly studies and tests keep me from visiting you, my Lord. Besides," he added, trying to desperately quell the tremor he felt rising in his throat, "what would one do without something to get him away from the primitive drones of the office every now and then?"  
  
A dark chuckle that sent chills through the air reached Iolaas's tufted ears. "You always were one with a bit of wit, weren't you? And now that you're here, we can begin the reading." Two sharp claps reverberated through the air, and suddenly the floor lit with a soft glow, sending pale beams of light upwards. For the first time Iolaas could see the other Zangeese present in the room with him. Their faces loomed in the faint light, caught between the pressing darkness above and the weak brightness below. Raised high against one of the cavernous room's walls was a tall throne, seated upon which was Lord Shaelvar himself. The grand chair shielded him from the light, but Iolaas could still make out two tiny emerald glimmers reflected off his eyes.  
  
"Head Researcher! Commence your presentation. Let the other overseers hear of your findings." Lord Shaelvar shifted anxiously atop his throne, his beady eyes narrowed in anticipation. A lone, rather thin Zangoose inched forward and leaned over his notes.  
  
"Yes, my lord," he enunciated clearly, speaking loudly enough for the room to hear. "As you all know, our field explorers discovered a small, ancient obelisk while on a mission to spy on the Sevipers." The other Zangeese in the room spat or snarled viciously at the mention of their mortal foes. The speaker held up a paw, silencing the outbreak. "While the purpose of said object remains a mystery, writing has been discovered along its edges. It is the written text used universally by all Pokémon centuries ago. Dating tests have proved it to be older than both the Tin and Brass Towers."  
  
An excited whisper flitted between the listeners. A monument older than the legend of Ho-oh? Impossible! He continued over the din: "Current archaeological finds made it possible for us to translate the runes into our own, current lingual patterns; however, the words themselves aren't written the normal Pokémon speech, but in none other that the Seviperian language. Their language has been kept secret for generations, and not one soul outside their species could ever hope to understand its meaning."  
  
"That is why," Lord Shaelvar cut in, "our leading spy has volunteered to translate the text. He is... what you might call an _expert_ at the Seviperian language. Yamimakai?" He waved off to the side, and in the shadows beneath him a pair of red eyes gleamed, appearing out of nowhere, rising up from the darkness in a cobra-like manner.  
  
"Listen!" the shadowed figure roared, creating a wall of sound that reverberated throughout the room. Almost all the Zangeese flinched in unison. "When darkness and light are torn in a rift, head for a mountain high! There, past the trials that guard the gate, you'll find a temple in the sky! A sacrifice, there must be made, to enter the sacred gem; and from within, the beast will rise, its power made ready to him! Listen! And heed, this warning I tell, for the might of this creature can open the gates to Hell! Only the brave and rightful heir can control the power hidden there! Up in the mountain, hidden high, seek the Temple of the Saint Dragon, God of the Sky!"  
  
The poetic words ended abruptly as the being finished, the last of the echoes dying off gradually. Lord Shaelvar clapped his paws together exuberantly. "There you have it. The Sevipers' secret has been discovered! We now know the legend they have striven to keep hidden from us!"  
  
Everyone seemed to be thinking the same thing: was Lord Shaelvar crazy? "But Sir," a doubtful Zangoose said from the side, "how can you know all of that from just a simple rhyme? We nothing of which mountain they speak of, or..."  
  
THWACK! His words were cut off by his unfortunate decapitation. Lord Shaelvar had given just a flick of a claw, and the shockwave had sent the Zangoose's skull careening off. Inside, Iolaas's fearful icicles grew into rusty swords with diamond-tipped ends. The looming emperor licked his claw thoughtfully.  
  
"We do not know anything except for this legend's existence. That is why you all," Lord Shaelvar's voice crescendoed through the dark, "must get back to your posts immediately and begin making sense of it! Off with you!" And the lights flickered out, plunging the room into blackness. The Zangeese went frantic, struggling to exit the cave of a room before more heads went rolling.  
  
The Dark Emperor smirked at the chaos pulsating below. "Aah, their terror is amusing. Don't you agree, Yamimakai?" Lord Shaelvar asked his innermost minion.  
  
"Yes Master," he hissed, the only visible part of the creature its glowing scarlet eyes. "Terror amuses me almost as much as death does."  
  
"Good, good," said Lord Shaelvar through a flash of wicked fangs. "For we shall be seeing more of both in the future."  
  
~*~*~  
  
SC: And now, more cliffhangers for you. So, just who is this "all-powerful" emperor, Lord Shaelvar? And what of his minion, Yamimakai? Might this being in shadow be a traitor? What role will Iolaas play? I'm not telling. Wait and see! ^__^ 


End file.
